The King's Burden
by Sresla
Summary: Every one sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are. In the actions of all men, and especially of kings - which it is not prudent to challenge - one judges by the result. Exitus ācta probat: The result justifies the deeds.
1. Chapter 1

"You should have told me!" The king slammed a hand down on the desk as he levered himself to his feet. "This was not your decision to make, Marshal."

"Sire, it was not." Cor Leonis, commander of the Crownsguard stood, hands crossed behind his back, in the king's study. "Is not," he amended. "Which is why I am coming to you now. I believe it is time the two of you met."

"You'll integrate this boy into the Kingsglaive and he will continue to serve in Insomnia. I'm certain you can concoct a reason as to why he was trained independently."

"Yes, your Highness, I could," the marshal's gaze remained steadfastly forward, "but I won't. I would suggest instead you do him the honor of speaking to him now. Before he leaves."

"Are you defying a command from your king?"

"No, I am not. What I am doing," Cor looked his king now in the eyes, "is ensuring the safety of the royal family. I am, as I have ever been, your loyal servant. Which you know. Just as you know that I will order him to go, on a timetable planned meticulously in conjunction with Prince Noctis' departure from the crown city, with or without your blessing. What I am asking," the marshal paused and took a deep breath before continuing, "is that you acknowledge the King's Burden as a ruler must."

It was the king who broke eye contact first. "My words will not succor him if..."

"They may." When King Regis Lucis Caelum looked back up, his oldest friend was holding out his cane. "Come. He will be training, even as we speak."

The walk to the _ludus_ was a long one and the two men strode in silence, past guards stationed and attentive, through the hallways and up the staircase leading to the gallery. No one was on duty here; Cor ensured the rotation gapped at regular intervals during the day so his tutelage could be held without interruption, taking no chances on prying eyes.

Once they found a suitable viewpoint, the commander produced a spyglass and offered it to his king. The king extended it and directed it to the lone figure on the training ground below.

The leader of the Crownsguard knew what he saw. A man with features so much like the king's son they might have been brothers. It was possible they were even distantly related, through bastard blood so diluted the old records were unable to trace it. If the marshal were less cautious, he might have asked Ignis to further research the family tree; the retainer from House Scientia had a prodigious memory and was tenacious when given a task. However, the line of succession needed to remain untarnished and blurring the lines so close to the summit was unwise. Still, although it was styled differently, he had the same dark hair, the same blue eyes, the same general build and facial structure – there were still times Cor caught himself with another name on his lips when providing instruction, a reprimand or praise.

"Where…?" the king finally asked.

"A hospital," the commander interrupted before the sentence could be finished. "There was, understandably, confusion about his lineage. He was deposited," ' _left to die_ ' Cor's mind filled in, "in the hospital's emergency admitting area, injured and incoherent. I was contacted to ascertain his identity by the facility's administrator."

Cor saw no reason to share further details: the number of illicit drugs in the boy's system, how he had been beaten nearly to death, sitting vigil at his bedside through his detoxification, the multiple operations and skin grafts it took to repair the physical damage and finally, the patient explanation of who he was and why the Kingsglaive wanted to recruit him.

"Who else knows about him?"

"A handful of the Glaive. Clarus, of course. Nyx and Libertus. Crowe was essential in helping him develop his warping techniques; he doesn't have her raw skill but makes up for it with finesse. Not Prince Noctis or his friends if you're asking although it was a close thing a few times, young Prompto being as eager as he was for his self-defense classes."

The king continued to watch the exercise yard. "Noctis cannot know."

"No sir."

"He would never forgive me."

Cor considered his next words for a few moments before speaking them aloud. "I think he would come to understand, in time, if the ceasefire holds and the treaty is signed. The overtures from the Empire seem genuine enough and the meeting has been months in the making, as have the wedding preparations. This," he said, with forced conviction, "is just a precaution."

"By the Six!" the King threw aside the spyglass. It bounced, then rolled over to hit the wall with a faint metallic _ting_. "We are using this boy as bait! And may the Gods forgive me for condoning it, but I would do anything to see my son safe! I do not need you lying to me on top of everything else!"

Cor glanced down at the figure below. It was unlikely their voices carried far and there was no outward indication the other man heard the exchange. He progressed through his drills as though unobserved, still expecting his teacher's presence at their appointed time and aware of the consequences if he was found lax or lazy. Then, retrieving the spyglass, he held it out for the king. "You're acting as if we're sending a raw recruit and he isn't. Will he be in danger? Potentially. Will he be able to handle anything short of an imperial battalion? I would ask you to watch and judge for yourself."

Regis looked between the commander of his Kingsglaive and the object before taking it back with a tired sigh and Cor knew his king saw through his defense of their actions. It was ironic the prince, however ill-prepared he was now to rule his people, would have been the one to reject this plan if he'd been made aware. The marshal supposed he had Noctis' friends to thank for that. Every life was valuable and for them to be putting one life above another, even knowing the celestials envisioned Insomnia's prince as their chosen one, sacrificed part of their humanity. Were men who made this sort of choice worth saving? What sort of penance would they need to pay in the afterlife?

These were thoughts Cor mulled over at dusk, watching the days grow shorter and the nights longer. For all his doubts though, he committed to this path years ago and prepared the man below as well as he was able, short of requiring him to undergo the Blademaster's trial as a last test of his skill. The Burden was no Shield though, as he intended to demonstrate for his king.

Cor leaned over the stone railing, watching his student's movements until he saw the opening he was looking for. Without preamble, he engaged, warping to his intended spot, readying his summoned blade for a downward swing that would – if it connected – cleave the other man's skull.

It didn't, however, because his pupil was no longer there. He was crouched, balanced on the balls of his feet, on the head of one of the training dummies.

"You're late, sir."

The two regarded one another. "What have I told you about showing off, Cerran?" Cor said.

"Not to, Marshal. But I was bored and you _are_ late, sir. If you want to cut off my head, we should try training at night for a change."

"You have your orders, Glaive. Or do I need you to write them on a blackboard one hundred times to ensure you know them by heart?"

The younger man grimaced. "No sir. I know. I'm sorry." He bowed his head in contrition.

"Well, then." Cor nodded in approval. "Since I'm late, as you said, perhaps we should see about giving you a real workout?"

Their match was less a fight and more of an artful ballet of skilled acrobatics. Cerran possessed a gift for reading motion and anticipating their kinetics. Rather than warping from a distance which telegraphed the opponent's intent, he moved in close quarter, short bursts that conserved his stamina. Unlike most Glaives, he also preferred vertical rather than lateral movement and utilized of his surroundings to warp above, or behind while Cor still faced forward. It was dangerous but advantageous; Cerran favored daggers and bo-shuriken which allowed for both attacks and misdirection. In a decade – if the treaty held and the dark was banished – the marshal predicted Cerran would have the discipline to be one of the best fighters, if not the best, in Lucis.

For now, he retained the hubris of youth and often tried to best his teacher with reckless moves that worked less often than the other man hoped. When these gambits failed, he overcompensated with aggression rather than retreat to re-think his strategy. On his good days, he could leave Cor fatigued and impressed. On his bad, Cerran left the arena with bruises and some measure of humility – until the next session, of course. Most were a mix of both; Cor still won their matches consistently but it was becoming more and more difficult to do so.

Today, luckily, was one of Cerran's best performances and it made the commander wonder briefly if his pupil was finally realizing the importance of what he was tasked with rather than treating every day like another training exercise. Cor also breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He meant what he said to his King, but there was no changing the fact they were sending a boy only a few years older than Noctis into a situation fraught with peril. In the time allotted, though, Cor and the few Glaives he trusted with the knowledge of Cerran's existence had done the best they could. Better, in fact, since – unlike the crown prince – he would be alone.

Either that, or he realized the marshal's attention was divided. The younger man lunged; Cor pulled back just in time and his katana's tsuba blocked Cerran's attempt to reach him. If his student could score enough tiny slices or cuts, the blood would make his grip slippery, potentially disarm him and win the match.

Cerran slid back out of his failed engage, then whipped out his arm. The marshal ducked to avoid the imminent projectiles, realizing too late his student hadn't actually thrown anything and that the gesture was a feint. Playing off of his teacher's expectations, Cerran utilized the momentum of the empty throw to warp past and above the commander's position. Cor dropped and rolled to his left, catching a glimpse of his student before he disappeared again. Cor pivoted for another dodge, but instead of a flurry of sharpened spikes raining down upon him, Cor saw the boy's head turn towards the balcony and an expression of alarm flit across his face. This time, Cor knew Cerran's attack would be in earnest as he drew his arm back.

The paranoia and hyper-awareness of his surroundings Cor instilled in his student were working against them both; there wasn't even time for a mental curse for not mentioning the king's visit to him beforehand. With a strangled cry, the Marshal shouted, "No!" as the shuriken were released and sped at their target.

The circular blast of light was so bright, he had to shield his eyes. Cerran was knocked back into the wall and his head hit the marble with a crack. Cor leapt to catch his student around the waist and warp him to the ground. Unconscious, but breathing, thankfully, and his pupils were responsive when Cor checked. As a precaution, he rolled the other man onto his side and tilted his head back gently to ensure his airway remained clear in case the injury was worse than it seemed.

A voice called down from above. "An imperial battalion you said." Cor looked up at Regis, who was leaning over the railing. The king shook, then rubbed his hand where the royal seal resided. "It's good to see you weren't exaggerating. I believe he intended to kill me. I don't envy the soul who lurks in his shadow."

"I try to keep my lies to the royal personage to a bare minimum. You're unharmed, your Majesty?"

"Nothing that an extra hour's worth of sleep won't cure, although I don't know when I'll be able to fit that into my schedule. The boy?"

"He'll have a headache, which I have a feeling will intensify once he realizes who it was he attacked."

"I'm afraid his weapons were… hm… vaporized."

"They can be replaced. The same cannot be said of my king."

"If only that were true, old friend." The two men looked at each other for a few moments before the king's gaze went to the unconscious Glaive at Cor's side. "I hesitated. When he turned on me. The likeness. His fluidity, his grace. It makes me ache for what Noctis might have been if not for the Marilith."

The intimacy of the confession made the two men's formality slip away. "That wasn't your fault, Regis. And this wasn't either," he tacked on. "I should have told him you would be coming."

"There were many things you should have done, Marshal. Telling me about him sooner being first and foremost." Cor watched as Regis' expressions transformed him from his lifelong companion and best friend back to the ruler of his kingdom in the space of a few breaths. "I sanction this and do so to protect my son, not because of any prophesy. But I will not speak to him. I do not want to know this man; he is a pawn, nothing more." The king turned his back on the pair on the floor below him. "Get his hair cut. Get him out of my palace. I never want to see his face or speak about this ever again."

"Sire!" Cor gasped.

"Do not make me repeat myself, Grand Marshal. You will do as I command. And if he returns to us, unharmed, and my son does not… kill him."

* * *

The idea for this came to me when playing through the FFXV Comrades expansion. After doing the quest 'Departures' you can receive Noctis' facial structure for your character creation. I got to thinking about what would happen if Noctis had a doppelgänger and what role he might play through the storyline's conflict. If you're interested in such things, I highly recommend the book 'I was Monty's Double' or for something a bit more easily digestible, the Kurosawa movie 'Kagemusha' (a term which might or might not get used later). Yes, I do weird bits of research that don't amount to much of anything at all. Anyhow, a whole lot of plot tumbled around in my head as a result and this is the first chapter. Brainworms are real, people, and it managed to sidetrack me from not one but two separate stories I've been working on for Star Wars: The Old Repubic and Dragon Age: Origins. And Noctis isn't even my favorite character. He's like third! Curse you, Square Enix! There's also a dash of what I'd roughly classify as "Do the ends justify the means?" inspiration - people in power using others for both right and wrong reasons.

Speaking of Square Enix, the universe and most characters that are prominently mentioned like Regis and Cor (with more to come) belongs to them. Cerran is a character of mine (looks nothing like Noctis, by the way), who tends to pop up when I don't feel it's appropriate to use my main muse, Sandor.

Thank you for taking the time to read it. I've done my best to proofread and check for errors (hurray for slowly reading aloud). If you're so inclined, please feel free to review; a critique is as valued as praise.

PS. I am aware that there might be an issue with the idea that a Glaive could warp or use the Armiger arsenal without having, in some way, been appointed directly by the King. I searched high and low for some sort of explanation of how it was done without spoiling too much of FFXV for myself (which I still haven't completed and I haven't watched 'Kinsglaive' for fear of said spoilers): Does he have to touch them? Do something with the Ring of Lucii? Maybe it was just an oath or, what I opted for, being inducted by one of the Glaive with their weapon. I imagined it something like this: If we start with one of the original Kingsglaive, like Cor, he in turn could "pass" the weapon to those he deemed worthy. They might both grip his katana, but once the ceremony is complete, the magic allows them to "draw" the weaponry they're most suited to and can now warp as well. So, Cerran was trained first with "normal" weapons and only once Cor decided he was sufficiently committed and trustworthy, did he actually allow Cerran to become a Glaive with access to their powers. TLDR: magic stuff happens that is magical, but it felt like a plot point I wanted to assure my readers I had considered and my story's premise might require some suspension of disbelief as a result that I hope you'll find worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

"I attacked the king." Cerran stared at his pale reflection in the mirror.

"Tilt your head forward."

"Did you hear me? I said I attacked the _king_."

"I heard you the first ten times you said it," Libertus replied. "Now tilt your head forward."

Cerran did as he was told, to the sound of the snip-snip of scissors. He watched as long strands of dark hair fell to the wood flooring, gathering around the chair legs like missed dust bunnies. "This is the worst day ever," he said as he leaned over, covering his face with his hands.

"What did he say?" a woman's voice called from the living room.

"He said this is the worst day ever!" Libertus answered, pitching his voice so he could be heard over the other man's groan. "And it will be," he jerked on a clump of hair at the top of Cerran's head, pulling him back upright, "if you don't stay still."

"What did you say?" the woman yelled.

"I said it will be if he doesn't stay still!"

"He's right!" she called back. "You don't want a bad haircut! Worst day ever if that happens!"

"You two are insane. Why aren't you listening to me?"

"I am. We are. Well, I am. I think Crowe is reading a magazine. Listen," he pushed Cerran's head down so he was staring at the floor again, "it was a mistake. The Grand Marshal said you weren't in trouble, right? You didn't actually _try_ to assassinate him." Cerran felt Libertus' hand brush the back of his neck which now felt bare, rubbing it against the short bristles he now sported. "That looks about right. Back up please. I need to get some more off the top."

Cerran straightened his head again and he met Libertus' eyes in the mirror.

"Don't worry, kid. It will grow back. And stop worrying about the other stuff, too."

Cerran nodded then winced as his fellow Glaive glared at the movement. He watched as Libertus continued to cut and another's face took shape beneath the new hairstyle. ' _I'm still me. We don't look that much alike,'_ was a familiar lie he told himself and intensified the feeling the last five years of his life were a surreal dream. Memories prior to his recruitment were hazy, lost to addiction: he couldn't recall having a family, didn't think he'd been born in the crown city and couldn't remember the specific events leading up to his hospitalization. He knew, vaguely, he had done things he wasn't proud of in order to feed his habits. Maybe those days were better forgotten.

If only today's slate could be wiped similarly clean.

"He sleeps on it. And doesn't brush it when he wakes up." Too absorbed in what he was doing, Libertus didn't reply. Cerran slumped in his chair and received another painful yank prompting him to right his posture. He scrubbed his face with a hand, leaned back slightly – which didn't earn him a reprimand – then shut his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch what was happening.

"You're not falling asleep are you?"

"No," he murmured. "I know. My head." It was difficult though, as Libertus carded his hands through his hair, snipping stray strands. Surrendering to sleep sounded like the ideal solution though; an emotionless reprieve lasting until reality forced him back into consciousness.

"Now watch."

Cerran cracked an eye and watched while Libertus applied several different products to his hair. "This is gel," he said, teasing it into shape, "and this is hairspray," he said, lifting a bottle.

"I know what it all is. You're in my room. We're sitting at my dresser."

"Well yes…"

Cerran could see he was about to shout his question to the woman in the living room. "Crowe didn't bring it. It's mine."

"But your hair is… I mean, it was…"

"Straight doesn't mean straight. Those braided parts? I do that."

"Braided?"

Libertus was staring at him like he was a stranger and it made Cerran uncomfortable. He spoke the other man's name, which seemed to bring his attention back into focus and said, "You combed them out before we started?" Again, he was met with a blank look. "They start at the sides and meet in the back?" Cerran encircled the back of his head with his fingers, "Then hangs down, like a tail? Sort of like what you and Nyx do but less," he searched for a word, "mullet-y. Since my hair is," he corrected himself, "was long everywhere else, too."

"I do not have a mullet."

"You totally have a mullet!" Crowe yelled.

"If I have a mullet, Nyx has a mullet!" Libertus yelled back. "Gladio has a mullet!"

"Yes, but they make it look good." The woman drew out the "o" vowel a long time.

"What's that supposed to mean? Just get in here!" He set the bottle of hairspray back on the dresser hard enough to make the other objects on it jump.

Crowe entered a few moments later, with Cerran's cat draped over her shoulder like a grain sack. "Wow," was her immediate response, as she stroked the animal's grey fur, staring at Cerran. "Like… wow," she repeated, staring at him glassily, like a wild animal caught in car headlights. "I mean you could always kind of see it, but… wow. This is too weird. Maybe it's time to quit your day job," she said to Libertus, finally tearing her eyes away from Cerran.

"Hairdresser to royalty, that's me. What do you think, your Majesty?"

"Fuck. Off."

"Language."

"I hate you both."

"You don't." Crowe asserted.

"I hate this," he amended, muttering the admission under his breath.

A loud hiss interrupted the conversation. Irises wide, as if they were in a darkened room, Cerran's cat was staring at him, tail puffed and a ridge of hair rising on its spine. It began to wriggle and Crowe released the animal who leapt down and streaked under the bed. Crowe began to laugh. "I always said the prince got along better with dogs."

Cerran was already out of his chair and crouching, trying to cajole his cat out. "Hey, Pickle, it's okay, it's just me, I'm still me, it's okay," he crooned. When this failed, he flopped on the bed, his head dipped over the edge, trying to see into the dark space. The two Glaives were still laughing. "You guys are scaring him. He's not used to this many people in my room."

"Don't think it's us, your Highness." Their laughter subsided into chuckles and the two Crownsguard watched his efforts for a few more minutes before Libertus asked, "Why do you call him Pickle, anyway?"

"That's just his name, alright?" Cerran snapped.

"Well, this has been fun," Crowe said, grabbing Libertus' arm and steering him out of the room, "but I think we're done here. For what it's worth, you're a ringer." The woman cocked her head, made a finger gun and winked as she went through the motions of firing it. "A dead ringer for Prince Noctis so everything should work out just fine. We've got to report to the Commander. Get some rest, kid. You've got to make an early start in the morning."

"Yeah, whatever. Thanks, I guess." Cerran resisted the urge to reach up and smooth his hair down. ' _Even my own fucking cat doesn't know me. Six, I'm still fucking_ me _underneath!"_

Once the two Glaives let themselves out and he heard the door close, he got up, went through his tiny apartment and turned off all the lights then felt his way back to his bed where he laid down, still fully clothed, on top of the comforter. "They're gone. You can come out." He patted the bedspread but the cat didn't emerge. "Whatever. Suit yourself. See? I'm taking a nap," he made soft snoring noises with his mouth, "without Pick. Brr, I'm so cold, I need my best bud to come keep me warm." He didn't think anything about talking to the cat. He did it all the time when they were alone. He listened in the dark for any sound of movement but heard none.

Despite the earlier warning, ' _I'll shut my eyes for just a minute,_ ' and soon Cerran was asleep, the anxiety over the day and what was still left to come finally taking its toll.

Noctis sat at a table in his apartment, looking through a stack of papers. "This is boring. From now on, you're going to council meetings in my place." No one looked up so the prince repeated himself, this time taking a sheaf of papers and tossing them in the air, which caused the other four in the room to turn and look at him.

"Not what I signed up for, your Majesty," Cerran said from his place on the couch. He and Prompto were sitting together, playing a prison break co-op game called _No Way Out_. They were about to the point where they had to distract the nurse.

"By royal decree, I order you to cut your hair again and pretend to be me at all meetings from now until the end of time. So mote it be."

"What the what now?" Gladio used his finger to find the spot he was at in his book and resumed reading.

"I'm afraid Cerran is right. He's here to protect you, Noct."

"Going to meetings in my place is protecting me. From boredom. Boredom kills, Iggy."

"I'm quite certain no one has ever died of boredom."

"Wanna bet?" Noctis pulled out his phone and a minute later held it up and said, "Here, look, first hit: Science shows you can die of boredom, literally. Psychology Today. Legit science says I'm right."

"Clickbait," Prompto said, eyes glued to the television screen. He had just eased himself off the hospital cot and Cerran was trying to decide on what dialogue line to choose that would get the nurse to turn around.

From his place behind the kitchen counter, Ignis sighed. "Legitimate scientific study or no, Cerran is neither the prince nor does he need to learn how to run the country. You are and you do."

"There was that book. They did it in that book. Where the prince found a guy and then took off and had loads of fun adventures, super happily ever after. Back me up, Gladio."

"Don't drag me into this one. Besides, if I remember right, the prince got beaten to a pulp by the other kid's alcoholic father."

"But he became king again, right?"

"And ruled justly, but only after he had atrocities done to him and viewed societal injustices. The 'other guy', as you so quaintly put it, ruled in his stead. So well, in fact, he fooled the entire nation into believing he was the real king. In thanks for the good heart he showed to his people, the true monarch elevated him to an earl of the kingdom at the end once he was restored to the throne," Ignis said, as he rinsed off a head of lettuce, shaking the excess water into the sink.

"Wait, all I have to do is go to meetings and I get to be an earl? That sounds good to me," Cerran said, guiding his character through another round of conversation while Prompto passed the first office, ducked low against a wall.

"No one's beating me to a pulp, I'll just–" Noctis knifed a hand through the air, making _ftt ftt_ sounds.

"If Cerran is attentive during council meetings, who is to say we'll want you back, Highness? And, I don't need to chide him about eating his vegetables."

"No more fancy apart-ment!" Prompto singsonged, as his inmate reached up, snagging a set of keys on the nearby desk.

"No more Regalia," Gladio added.

"You don't even drive." Noctis lowered his head to the table and banged his forehead on it a few times.

"Hey, that's my furniture you're hitting. I'm the prince now, remember?" Cerran said, flashing Noctis a grin before returning his attention to the game.

"Besides, it's too late." Prompto let out a whoop as his prisoner returned to the infirmary and turned to Noctis while the cutscene played. "Noct, you said you didn't like him being you anyway. We decided we're going to dye his hair tomorrow to make him over into an elven vampire edgelord."

"More like you decided, if I had to bet," Gladio glanced up from his book before looking down again, "but… I could see it."

"Make him into…? Do I want to know what that is?" Ignis turned away from the stove to stare at Prompto. "Who is we? The Grand Marshal approved this?" he said, arching an eyebrow.

"So," Prompto said enthusiastically, tucking his legs under him and leaning over the back of the couch to look at Ignis, "his hair is long right, like those elves in that movie, so we can dye it really blond or platinum or white maybe, and then I was like, well, we can get these super pale contacts and, you know, ear pointing is a thing now and he needs something to be at least as intimidating as Gladio is. Not everyone can go shirtless all the time to show off their giant tattoos and muscles."

"I like how you put that the wrong way around, champ. Thanks."

"Prompto, if you do not take a breath, I have serious concerns you'll asphyxiate yourself. I'm still not hearing the part where the Commander said the whole plan was acceptable. One might hope I have a say in all of this, as well."

Prompto continued as if he hadn't heard Ignis' comment. "I said we should get his ears pierced too, but Cerran said he'd stick to just getting his tongue done."

Gladio slammed his book shut with a chuckle. "There we go, Iggy. Something for everyone. Noctis gets a bodyguard straight out of a video game or one of those cartoons they're always watching–"

"Anime!" Noctis interrupted.

"Prompto gets the girlfriend he always wanted and gets to do his hair and I get a partner who will probably look scarier than I do. Even without the muscles."

"Wait," Prompto said, brow furrowed, "what does Ignis get then?"

Prompto looked at Gladio, then at Ignis, whose mouth had dropped open. When he saw Prompto staring at him, he shut it, pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and turned back to the oven. "I think the chicken is about ready to go in."

Prompto looked at Noctis who just rolled his eyes at his best friend. "You know. Cerran and Ignis? C'mon Prom, think about it."

Prompto looked at Cerran, who was still staring at the tv, controller in hand. He appeared oblivious to the conversation, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "But all that leaves is… but how is that for… oh. OH." Eyes wide, a flush creeping up his neck, Prompto turned back around on the couch, picked up his controller and began pressing buttons. "Oh," he squeaked out.

This made Gladio laugh harder, until he was doubled up in his chair.

Cerran started awake, a hiss escaping his lips at the ache in the middle of his back. Shifting slightly, he sat upright when his hand touched something that moved and realized too late his cat had joined him when he drifted off. The animal jumped of the bed with a thump, disturbed by his sudden movements.

"Hey, Pick, sorry, I'm sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he mumbled, rubbing at his spine, trying to massage away the pain. He yawned, hard enough to make his eyes water, then realized he was still fully dressed and his apartment was freezing cold. "Crap." He shucked off his clothes as quickly as he could and burrowed back under the blankets, finding the warm spot from his own body heat. "Alright, I'm settled, bedtime now."

A few minutes later, he felt the slight dip on the bed as his cat joined him. It meandered its way up his side before cuddling against his hip. Cerran moved a hand out from under the covers to stroke the cat; the animal butted its head against his palm before pinning his hand with its paws and licking his knuckles. Cerran endured the sensation of the sandpaper tongue for as long as he could before pulling away. The cat moved up further, until it was curled up in the crook between his arm and chest and – once settled – began to purr.

The sound was soothing. Cerran yawned again and felt tears at the corners of his eyes but didn't move to wipe them away. "I'll miss you, Pick. I should have gotten you a carrier and you could have come too, but I'll be back soon and I don't think most hotels take cats anyway which seems weird because I know they take dogs. I bet they even make little kitty helmets. You and me, on a best friends road trip. That sounds nice, right?"

Distantly, he knew his exhaustion was making him babble. "You know, I had this dream, it was about a game where you play as a seal against a bunch of other seals trying to fill a tub of water and there were pineapple rings you could explode…" he spoke progressively slower and more quietly, "but then there was this other dream and I was smiling but I can't remember and I hate that because you always want to go back to sleep and try to pick up where you left off but you never can. Someone was laughing, we must have been having a good… a good…" The third time, he managed to complete his sentence, "a good time," before he fell back asleep.

* * *

The general image I had in my head for this chapter was an old cartoon by Vestergaard (DA) between the Hound and Arya from Game of Thrones. They no longer have it in their gallery but it literally ended with "It was the best haircut ever" and for whatever reason, always made me laugh. If you search "vestergaard arya hound" it's one of the first image search hits on Google. Maybe it will make you chuckle, too.

The universe and most characters that are prominently mentioned like Libertus, Crowe and the boys (with more to come) belongs to Square Enix. Cerran is a character of mine (looks nothing like Noctis, by the way), who tends to pop up when I don't feel it's appropriate to use my main muse, Sandor. I don't know how much people love or hate OCs, but I'm trying to make sure my OC is never too "alone" without some screen text for main game characters. Oh, and hopefully the dream sequence wasn't too hard to follow (or tell it was a dream).

Thank you for taking the time to read it. I've done my best to proofread and check for errors (hurray for slowly reading aloud). If you're so inclined, please feel free to review; a critique is as valued as praise.


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